


.01 In a Bar

by unkemptseeker



Series: We lived a life of: Almost [1]
Category: Longmire (TV)
Genre: F/M, One-Shot, a moment in au time, ambiguous discussions, someone finally went to therapy on this show
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:00:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24707212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unkemptseeker/pseuds/unkemptseeker
Summary: 'tis an unearthed piece from my docs.
Relationships: Cady Longmire/Jacob Nighthorse
Series: We lived a life of: Almost [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1786264
Comments: 7
Kudos: 14





	.01 In a Bar

**Author's Note:**

> a little chunk written in 2018.

Sending her senses back in time would be as easy as closing her eyes. 

If she closes her eyes, the new-to-her bar becomes The Red Pony, after all, bar noises are all basically the same. If she tilts her head _just_ right the blurry red neon takes the shape of a running horse. 

There’s a layer of self torture in it though, so she lets herself hurt, and she keeps her eyes open. The noise ebbs and flows, the people too, and she stays leaning, waiting. 

She knows it's him immediately when the silver car pulls into the turn lane across the street, the tint is dark and he’s still beyond her sight - a frustrating reminder of her life- and she forces down the bubble of anxiety.

She watches him pull in effortlessly, watches him step out, lets herself finally ride the wave of nerves and a sharp sadness. There’s a lingering dark bitterness too. She deserves it, earned it even. 

He doesn’t say anything, or move really.. She watches him watching her though, and she can’t decide if she should wave, or _something_. After a few seconds she nods at him, and walks to the front door, propping it open with her body, observing the new version of him headed towards her. 

It stings, and everything feels _wrong_.

He follows her, hands jammed in his coat pockets. They walk around the dance floor, skirting the bar, and he still says nothing. They sit across from each other at a peeling pleather booth and he raises an eyebrow. 

The waitress whizzes by and frowns - because as Cady is well aware of, drunk guys are the tippers you really want - and dumps two menus on the table. 

The noise is practically its own entity and she stares at the worn fabric binding on the menu until her lungs beg her to breathe. “They do pizzas on Fridays,” she offers, when the silence is too much to take and her vision has started to white out around the edges.

His head is shaved now, his face too, and it feels so unfamiliar that she has to duck her head down and close her eyes. Not for the first time, she finds herself wishing she had a time machine, or a time tuner, she’s not picky.

“I thought we’d meet closer to Durant,” he says finally, and his voice is exactly the same even with the cool toned aloofness. 

She laughs for just a moment, because of course he’d be able to pour salt _right there_. “I don’t live there anymore,” she replies, jiggling her knee under the table. “It wasn’t...working out.” 

It’s a pathetically bare sentence, it can’t possibly encapsulate the reality of everything falling apart right under her hands, but it’s out there and she can’t take it back. 

“Quite a few things didn’t work out,” he replies. 

She isn’t afraid anymore, she tells herself. Sure, she’s tired; therapy’s been a bitch. 

There are untouched places though, fleeting possibilities she knows are dead now. Shame she can’t relieve herself of, no matter how much she talks about it. Still, she surprises herself with how far her stomach drops when she looks up and catches his eyes. 

_One second, two, three, four._

“Sorry, the bar is packed, what can I get you two.” 

The waitress is back, poor timing and all and she rolls her eyes at their drink orders and flounces off, muttering under her breath. 

Not even 5 minutes later, Cady’s soda almost comes out of her nose when he calls her out, point blank. 

“How’d you get the Durant Chronicle to print my piece on the paved roads needed in the Rez?” 

After she’s done hacking up a lung, she shoves her mini mountain of napkins away and grips her glass, hoping the cold can soothe her nerves. “I told Omar I believed in every word you wrote and if he didn’t publish it because Walt was being a jackass I’d rescind my support for his mayoral run.” She licks her lips nervously, ignores the way her nose still hurts, and charges on before she can stop herself. “Then I told Walt if he didn’t back all the proposals on the docket, I’d never speak to him again.” 

She watches Jacob blink at her, a clear look of surprise flashing briefly across his face. 

“Henry threatened to punch him in the face too though, so...” she finishes, hoping she can somehow cover up the fact that she just laid herself out to be eaten like a lamb offering herself to a pack of lions.

“I can see why he acquiesced.” “Yeah...it was the face punching that won him over, he’s already hardly speaking to me,” she jokes weakly. 

“His loss, undoubtedly,” Jacob says, looking straight at her. “I can relate.”


End file.
